


Lessons Unlearned

by smallerthanzero



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Trent Ikithon Being an Asshole, ithikon has a fundamental misunderstanding of the Nein and it's about to be a problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallerthanzero/pseuds/smallerthanzero
Summary: Nearly two decades ago, the boy who was not yet Caleb Widogast sat down for a lesson.Upon hearing of his erstwhile pupil's return to Rexxentrum, Ithikon decides to check in.
Relationships: Astrid & Trent Ikithon, Trent Ikithon & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 7
Kudos: 129





	Lessons Unlearned

Nearly two decades ago, the boy who was not yet Caleb Widogast sat down for a lesson.

His professor’s fingers lay steepled on his desk, old bones jagged as a dragon’s maw and holding a similar amount of danger within. “Bren,” he began, a sweet familiarity that, several months into the boy’s tutelage, was already starting to curdle. “What do you know about swimming with sharks?”

The boy’s brow furrowed, betraying a question he knew better than to ask - _what was a shark?_

\--

The boy had learned, and had burned, and was now a man named Caleb Widogast who _should_ still be aware of the securities that one tended to invest in upon venturing into politics. Protection from poison, for one. Allies, whether by choice or persuasion. Methods of ascertaining the whereabouts and plans of other agents without detection.

Trent Ikithon had some skill in such ascertainment - and, more importantly, he received regular reports of comings and goings from the city’s branch of the Cobalt Soul. Within twenty minutes of Caleb Widogast’s arrival in Rexxentrum, he had gathered scrying materials and waited patiently to find what traps his erstwhile pupil intended to trigger. 

Suspicious, considering that said pupil had until recently owned an amulet to prevent such intrusions. Perhaps there was something Bren wanted him to see, and he was happy to oblige. It was easily apparent that the incompetence of his companions far outweighed the delicacy of any ambuscade that Bren cared to lay. 

After watching the absurd pantomime that was the Mighty Nein buying out a joke-seller’s wares, he decided, somewhat less patiently, that eleven years in an asylum was perhaps inconducive to one’s understanding of intrigue.

He let the scrying spell fade long before the transaction completed, the blue tiefling’s squeals of delight echoing tinnily in his ears. 

\--

An hour later, the idiot that had taken up residence in the mind of his brightest pupil was waltzing in a beer hall rendered more uninhabitable by the minute as a cloud of wafting stink enveloped the dance floor.

Ikithon recognized this hall. He had, on one particular occasion, swept through its doors to remind his charges that no aspect of their lives was undiscoverable. A good lesson to learn, in games of power. 

He was aware, of course, that Bren was nostalgic. It had been obvious from the single moment he had spent with Eodwulf, a world of foolish emotion compressed into a paltry greeting. Had the boy seen Astrid, surely the sentiment would be even stronger -

He had always taken particular pleasure in letting those he deigned to punish be caught in traps of their own making.

(A scant mile away, outside a dance hall with green smoke drifting out hastily opened windows - the man who is Caleb Widogast lets the boy who was Bren a moment to remember nights spent dancing with old friends, then turns to follow his new family towards a new destiny housed in old halls. He has always possessed a fondness for dancing in circles.)

\--

Astrid sat down. Not for a lesson, this time, though with Ikithon everything tended to have one - as if he was the only one who knew how to act for the good of the Empire, sharing the information with only the closest and most trusted of his students. 

Breaking Bren like that, abandoning him to the shell that was Caleb Widogast - Ikithon had made at least one mistake. Was it not every student’s job to improve upon their predecessors?

She drew a small pouch from an inner pocket, holding it out with fingers that remained thin despite years of academy meals.

Ikithon didn’t take it. He stared at her, she at him. She refused to let her hand shake, knew better than to lower it to his desk.

“You are doubtful of some point. Please, ask.”

Dangerous, questions. Bait for sharks. And yet she found her mouth opening, a wound that had yet to stop bleeding making itself known. “Will you be using this on Bren?”

Ikithon’s expression remained unchanged past a shine to suddenly hard eyes. “Is that relevant?”

Astrid was aware of how people described her features - mannish nose, harsh chin. She welcomed the way it was more difficult to spot when she gritted her teeth. “This will be adequate for the… menagerie of company that he keeps. Quick release, fast acting. But it is well known, and we were all trained towards immunity.”

“I see.” Ikithon was not disappointed - he had trained her to know better than to disappoint him, and both of them knew that she would eventually draw out a second, smaller pouch to join the first. “For him?”

“Yes.”

Ikithon took both pouches, slipping them into a drawer. “Thank you, Astrid,” he said, and she hated the way that it made her jaw relax. “Your preparation in such matters is much appreciated, as it always has been.”

She thought of a night two months ago, the look in Bren’s eyes when she had managed to pry him back out. He had wanted to come home. To be good, to serve. 

Her parents had wanted nothing more, and she had killed them to become stronger. They could have served no better purpose - but Bren, her Bren, who had burned so brightly-

“For the good of the Empire, always.”

\--

Ikithon’s hands were steepled in front of him as he checked in on Bren one more time. He thought of it as paternal, almost - the prodigal son coming back to the family.

He was not one for open arms and forgiveness, but perhaps there was something left to set alight. He would spark the blaze, and send it where he wished. 

In retrospect, Ikithon knew very little of fatherhood.

Bren was well dressed, his hair brushed back - suitable for an adult, if not the student he had been - and he was leaning to talk to the Expositor -

\- was that the _ocean?_

The background of the scrying spell resolved into the frivolous bent of Nicodranian architecture, and Ikithon’s lip curled despite himself.

He was familiar with teleportation spells, though he rarely traveled far enough to have use of them. Unlike Da’leth or DeRogna, he had better uses of his time than gallivanting to abandoned corners of the earth.

Wasting a high-level spell before their meeting? Bren continued to disappoint. 

He’d been a bright student. The brightest. He should have at least been able to don the facade of a worthy opponent. Surely he could learn again, but Ikithon did not take well to forgetfulness.

Bren had forgotten that, when the silt of political muck was stirred up, there was always something lurking beneath.

Perhaps time for one last lesson, then. 

(Many, many miles away - the Mighty Nein’s pockets are lined with pranks and weapons alike. Most would deem these impractical baggage for a dinner party. 

The Mighty Nein intend to teach them a lesson.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come find me on tumblr at @smallerthanzer0 if the mood strikes you :)


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